


Loss

by KameTerra



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-13 18:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16897428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KameTerra/pseuds/KameTerra
Summary: Leo didn't expect he'd be able to make her feel better. The truth was, he had no intention of trying. He wasn't even sure what he hoped to accomplish... maybe just for her to know that whatever she was going through, he was there for her. 2003/2007 verse blend.





	Loss

Leonardo stepped softly around into the hallway, stealthy by habit rather than intent, and found her just exiting the bathroom. She was turned away from him, shutting the door. "April?" he queried softly, deeming it better to alert her to his presence immediately rather than to wait for her to turn around and just see him there.

She started a little at the sound of his voice, and turned to him. "Oh, hi Leo," she said, hooking some hair behind her ears in a semi-nervous gesture. "Sorry, am I holding things up? I told you guys not to pause it…"

He shook his head, studying her closely but discreetly. "No, the others are still watching." Then he paused and took a moment to shield himself a bit more from the efflux of her emotions. At this proximity, this intensity, the block took some effort to maintain.

April was looking at him expectantly, and he wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to say… but direct seemed to be the best. "You don't really want us here, do you." The words were gentle, but it was not a question.

She was able to meet his eyes for only a moment before looking down, catching her lower lip between her teeth as her brow pinched with the effort of holding herself together. Even if he hadn't been able to feel it, at that moment he could  _see_  how fragile she was, how close to the edge. He mentally chastised himself for his choice of words. He'd only meant it as an observation, but he should've considered that she might take it as a reproach. He knew it wasn't personal—in fact, if his brothers knew she didn't want company he was sure they would leave; they would understand. But that wasn't what this was about. She'd probably just feel guilty if they left anyway.

His heart clenched with empathy for her, with protectiveness for this human who was like a sister to him, but as much as he wanted to help her, he couldn't do much to ease the pain she felt—pain that threatened to suck him in if he didn't shield himself when he stood this close to her.

He couldn't fix this; he knew that. But he also couldn't pretend to ignore it any longer. "Look… I don't really feel like watching a movie," he said. "Do you want to take a break? Get some air?"

She hesitated so long Leonardo began to think she was going to refuse, but finally she swallowed, eyes still downcast, and simply nodded. He eased out a breath and led the way back down the hall, past the living room where everyone was watching TV, and into the kitchen. Leo caught Casey's questioning glance as they passed, and canted his head while glancing upward to indicate they were going up to the roof. Casey quickly turned back to the movie that Mike, Don and Raph were engrossed with. Not, Leo suspected, because he was unconcerned, but because he didn't want to draw any attention to them.  _Good_ , Leo thought. Casey knew, or at least suspected—but how could you help someone who insisted they were fine? It was Casey who'd invited them over, perhaps hoping the social interaction would do her good. The man was trying, at least.

Leo didn't expect he'd be able to make her feel better. The truth was, he had no intention of trying. Only time had the power to do that. He just… he wasn't even sure what he hoped to accomplish. Maybe just for her to know that whatever she was going through, he was there for her.

They ascended the fire escape, April accepting his hand wordlessly when he offered it to help her step up onto the roof. Once they were up he let her take the lead, and followed her when she headed off to the far side of the building, the side the wind was blowing in from. It was early summer, but the night was cool, the air as fresh as it ever got in Manhattan. Invigorating.

April stopped near the ledge, crossing her arms in front of her and facing into the wind, and though she looked out, she didn't seem to be taking in the cityscape. Her eyes, usually so open and expressive, had an inscrutable, far away quality to them. Even the tingle of her energy subsided a little as she regained control, and he knew she was unknowingly putting up her own shield. This was how she'd been functioning, lately—pull it in and lock it away. Stay numb and go through the motions. But Leo's senses were heightened enough to feel it anyway, shield or no shield.

In the beginning, when he first began to take notice of the strange sensation he occasionally felt, it hadn't meant much to him. It had started out as an unsettling oppressiveness, like the density of the air itself had increased and was pressing against his skin, and he only felt it at all if it was particularly strong. But over time he had begun to pay closer attention, to take notice of it and try to puzzle out what caused it. He had started to notice that he often felt the strange sensation when he was in close proximity to someone who was angry—usually Raphael. Proximity made a difference, too, whether he was standing close or not.

Then he began to notice subtle variations to it—sometimes a steady, constant pressure against his skin, sometimes prickly or tingly, sometimes bursts that bit into him like shrapnel, and sometimes almost a crawling sensation, like spiders scrambling all over him. Anger, apprehension, anxiety, frustration... those were correlated with, for lack of a better description, a sharp energy. Early on, those were the only ones he could even sense. The softer energies, like contentment, patience, curiosity, love… those came later. They were not necessarily weaker energies, just less… harsh. A little like the difference between a gentle rubbing of the arm and a slap across the face. With practice and experience, he had learned to pair the energy he was picking up on with the emotions behind them, until it became almost automatic, like reading facial expressions. It wasn't always clear—often there were so many energies coming at him at once, he couldn't make anything of it. But the stronger the emotion, the stronger the energy field… and in April's case, it was nearly overwhelming.

He stood silent, beside and slightly behind her, doing his best to project love and comfort. It was all he could do. After a time, when she remained quiet, he sat down in an attempt to put her at ease, letting her know it was okay to just  _be_  for a while.  _No demands here, April—talk or don't talk, it's all the same to me._

Eventually she sat down too.

The only thing he did then was simply take her hand, gently yet decisively, and just that small gesture elicited a spike of energy that punched right through his shield, making him suck in his breath involuntarily. He held her hand a little more firmly.

"I'm sorry," she said, daring a quick glance at him in the dark before returning to her forward stare. "I didn't mean to make you guys feel unwelcome or anything. It's not you… I guess I'm just not feeling that social tonight."

"It's okay; no one feels unwelcome," he said softly, and he felt completely comfortable speaking for his brothers on this. Other than being slightly more subdued than usual, which was understandable, her behavior was normal… so normal that Leonardo doubted anyone else understood just how badly she was still hurting.  _He_  wouldn't know, if it weren't for his extra sensibilities. He pondered a moment, debating whether or not to speak what was on his mind, but this was April. She was one of the most honest, open people he knew. If she didn't want to talk, she'd tell him so—but she wouldn't be angry with him for trying. And her words had reached him at a very low point in his life, when he had been floundering for purpose in Costa Rica years ago. Maybe, just maybe, his words would help her now.

Leo held her hand still, casually but firmly. "April… you know you don't have to pretend anything with me, right?"

She looked to him, brows raised questioningly, and he felt the withdrawal, like the gentle ebb of seawater after a wave. The pressure of her hand changed, too, her grip lessening as if preparing to pull away. When she searched his eyes, perhaps waiting for further explanation, he said nothing and just let the question stand. After a moment her gaze faltered, and she looked down at her legs and gently slipped her hand out of his grasp to wrap both arms around her bent knees.

"Millions of women have miscarriages, Leo," she said in a low voice. "Worse things happen to people all the time."

So that was part of it, then. She didn't think her loss "qualified" in the larger scope of possible agonies humans suffered. There were many things he  _wanted_  to say to her then—that the relativity of the pain didn't make it less real or valid, that maybe millions of women have had miscarriages, but  _she_  never had, that trying to curb her feelings was only going to prolong the healing—but though it might have made  _him_  feel better to say those things, some intuition was telling him it wouldn't help April at all. So he kept his response minimal, his tone conversational, hoping that would stop her from withdrawing still more.

"That's true," he said simply.

He felt an immediate effect from that, a loosening of her emotional restraint when she realized he wasn't going to argue.

"Besides, I was lucky," she continued in a subdued voice. "Some women have late-term miscarriages, or even stillbirths. Better that my pregnancy ended early, if something wasn't right."

_You'd have been luckier still if everything had been fine_ , he thought but didn't say. All he said was, "I see what you mean." This seemed to be working, answering the way he wanted to in his head, but agreeing with her out loud. He even wondered if she was voicing arguments  _she'd_  been using in her own head as to why she shouldn't be so upset.

She nodded a little, still staring down at her knees. "I mean, I was barely even pregnant—"

_But you_ _were_ _pregnant…_

"And at least I know I can get that far. Some women can't get pregnant at all."

_But you don't know if you'll ever make it any further._

She shrugged a little, just a hunch of her shoulders, and she looked so small, sitting there all huddled up… so alone it made his heart ache for her.

"So I have a lot to be thankful for," she said dully.

He knew what was coming, even before he saw the tears slipping down her cheek, or heard the catch in her voice. He felt the surge building behind the wall she'd erected, and reinforced his own shield, bracing for the inevitable impact.

"Physically, I'm completely fine. So fine," she said bitterly, "that I didn't even know anything was  _wrong_  until I went in for the second ultrasound and the doctor said she couldn't find a heartbeat." Her voice broke a little, and she paused, obviously fighting for control. "They said it had probably happened two weeks earlier. Two weeks during which I daydreamed about nursery themes and imagined what our child might look like, whether it was a boy or a girl…" She sniffed, and choked a little on the next words. "… Never even suspecting the heart had already stopped. My baby died, and I didn't even know it." The tears were coming steadily now, glazing her cheeks and dripping off her jaw, but she made no move to wipe them away. "How could I not have felt something,  _anything_ , when my baby died?" she asked plaintively, finally turning to him with wet eyes as if he actually might know the answer.

He eased closer and hooked his arm ever so gently around her shoulder, awash in her pain, and at last she let go and sank against him with a strangled sob. Casey had told them that she'd lost the baby—a baby that was already eagerly anticipated by human and mutant family members alike—but he hadn't gone into any detail. This was the first time Leo had heard the whole story, and the first time April had spoken of it directly to him. Like his brothers, Leo hadn't wanted to upset her by asking.

He turned to her and pulled her in, his arms tight around her as she buried her head into his shoulder and cried, sobbing out her heartbreak and helplessness. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes as he held fast to her, swallowing hard against the constricting of his throat. Seeing her like this, feeling the warmth of tears soaking his shoulder, the way her body shook with the force of the sobs, bearing witness to her agony, would have been enough to elicit an emotional response in him, but he knew it was more than that. He knew this pain—it was universal to anyone who'd suffered a loss, and his own was yet still fresh. And so he did the only thing there was to do: he bent his head close to hers and silently let the tears come, sharing in her grief as much as she had shared in his.

In time her sobbing slowed, but still she clung to him, and then she was talking again, brokenly, half-crying still, but the words needed to come out. "The doctor kept saying it was just 'one of those things', that it happens all the time and most women go on to have healthy babies… but what if that doesn't happen? What if I keep going through this, over and over? Even if I do get pregnant again, it'll never be the happy, carefree experience I imagined, you know? I'll keep wondering, what if something's wrong and I just don't know it yet? And people kept telling me it's better that it happened early, but as soon as I knew I was pregnant, it was like I could see our entire future as a family. First steps and holidays, helping him or her with homework, clapping at their graduation and crying at their wedding… and then poof. Gone. I never even had a baby, but I still feel like I lost a child. And I'm so  _alone_  in that," she said quaveringly. "It's been a month now, and I thought I'd feel better by now, but I, I just don't."

Leo thought maybe he was the least qualified to talk to her about this. As a male, not only was he incapable of bearing children, he'd never expected to _father_  any children either. Even while his heart bled for her, he couldn't fully fathom the bond she had for her unborn child at such an early stage. But if anyone close to her could relate, it seemed like maybe the father could…

"What about Casey?" he asked gently, still holding her close.

She sniffed, calming a little. "Casey and I both wanted this, wanted a child," she said more softly, "But it wasn't  _real_  to him yet—there was no baby to bond with, and of course he couldn't feel the changes that I felt in my body. He was disappointed when we found out it wasn't to be, but his sadness was for  _me_  and how devastated I was, not for the baby he'd barely begun to grasp the idea of. Every time I would cry or get upset, he just seemed so desperate for me to be happy again. I know he was trying to help; he and my mom would repeat things the doctor told us, that we were lucky we could conceive naturally, and that we could try again soon… things that were meant to be comforting, but just made it hurt more. I may have another baby someday, but I'll never have  _this_  baby. And I started to  _act_  like I was feeling better just so people would stop trying to 'comfort' me."

His sorrow for her deepened. He understood what it did to Casey, to anyone who loved April, to see her so sad. They would move mountains to make her happy… and yet what she had needed most was to just be allowed to be sad. He sighed heavily, and stroked her hair.

She was crying again, but less tumultuously this time, more like a cleansing rain shower than a violent thunderstorm. Then she sniffed, wiping her eyes before saying whisper-soft alongside his ear, "And then when I was around you guys… I would think about Master Splinter."

Leo squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard against the pain. Then he perceived a gentle settling of warmth around his senses, and he knew it came from April. He breathed and consciously lowered his defenses, letting her sympathy, her love, soothe him as much as it could.

After a long pause, she continued softly, "… And it seemed like such a small thing to be sad about after what you'd lost."

"What  _we'd_  lost," he corrected in a husky voice, letting her know she was included in that. He drew in another slow, immeasurably painful breath, thinking of his father, and gave April an extra squeeze before pulling back a little to look at her. Gently he pushed some damp strands of hair away from her face, and looked deep into her limpid green eyes. "But loss is loss, April," he said earnestly. "There are no rules for how much to grieve, or for how long."

She held his eyes, obviously emotional, but then to his surprise, she gave a wobbly smile through her tears. "That sounds like something Master Splinter would say."

She was right—he hadn't been thinking of that, but she was right. Only it didn't make him want to smile. He dropped his eyes and bowed his head as emotion surged through him, weighting his shoulders and pressing against his throat, making it difficult to breathe again.

"Oh Leo, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

He shook his head quickly. "It's okay. It just… catches me by surprise sometimes," he said raggedly. Leonardo took another measured breath and eased it out again, letting the pain thread through him, resisting the urge to push it down, hide it away. The pain had to be allowed to bleed through, cutting and cold, or it would stagnate and turn to poison. He knew; he'd been there before. And he was determined nothing like that should be in any way associated with his father.

"I get it," she said gently, touching his forearm. "It hasn't been that long yet."

He cleared his throat. "Almost eight months." It sounded like a long time when he said it out loud, and yet... Leonardo drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing the memories to take over for the time being. As painful as it had been, still was, at least they'd had time to come to terms with the eventual outcome, even if they hadn't wanted to give up hope at the time. His father's death had been a mercy, a release from the pain he'd endured as long as he had only for the sake of his sons. For Donatello, who had tried so hard to find an answer in the beginning, a treatment, and who in the end could only try and manage the pain, and for Michelangelo, who had honored their Sensei by resorting back to his rusty Japanese when they spoke together, which was often and prolonged, and for Raphael, who had sat with him in meditation almost daily, for once in his life trying to face the pain the way his father had always striven to teach him—with calmness of spirit and quiet fortitude. And for Leo… who knew the pain his sensei was in more than any other, and still could not bear the thought of losing him.

April stretched her arm behind his shell and gave a squeeze before sitting back a little. "Not so long at all," she said decidedly. Then she took  _his_  hand and just held it, and he was surprised by the comfort in that gesture.

"We're a real pair tonight, aren't we?" April said sardonically.

"Oh yeah, we'd be the life of the party," he agreed, his voice coming out as more of a croak, which made both of them laugh a little. In the silence that followed, April let out a long sigh, but the quality of it seemed somehow cleansing.

"I wish he could have known," she said reflectively. "About the baby, I mean. I know it would have made him happy. Even if…" She paused, struggling to find the words. "Even though it didn't… end the way we wanted, I wish he could have known."

Leo was quiet for a time, and then said, "Maybe he does. Master Splinter believed that after people die, they exist in spirit form. Maybe he can see us. Maybe he's looking out for us."

"Do you believe that?" April asked, her eyes seeking and finding his.

Leonardo hesitated, and then looked down. "I don't know." He wanted to believe it, and he knew that proof was irrelevant when it came to matters of faith, but still…

If April sensed anything more to his answer, she didn't ask. She merely nodded. But Leo was picking up… something. Agitation, maybe—her energy felt a little jumpy, nervous, like a small bird pecking against his skin. There was something more, something she didn't know how to ask, or maybe was afraid to ask. He didn't prod her, though, just let her figure it out.

"Do you…" she started finally, but then faltered. She tried again. "I mean, I know no one can know for sure, but do you think that people have a spirit… before they're born?"

Her voice was small, almost pitiful, and it touched a place in him so painful and poignant that his throat grew tight all over again. He knew at once what she was trying to get at, and moreover, in his heart, he suddenly  _felt_  the answer, and along with it the source. Again he felt the heat of tears building behind his eyes, but this time, miraculously, they were not tears of sadness.

"What, what is it?" April asked as she turned to face him, obviously picking up on  _his_ energy shift.

The turtle shook his head, not yet able to put it to words.

"Leo?"

"You don't have to worry," he choked out finally.

"What?"

"About your baby," he managed, swallowing hard. "You don't have to worry. They're together."

April's brow furrowed a little, her eyes filling again even as she tried to puzzle out what he meant. "Leo, what are you saying?"

"Their spirits are together," he choked out through his tears. "Master Splinter and your little one."

Her hands tightened on his, almost claw-like, and instantly the tears were spilling over again. "How? How could you know that?" she asked unsteadily.

"I can't explain, exactly," he said, raising wet eyes to hers. "When you started to ask, I just felt it. I  _knew_."

April's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, Leo…" she breathed, touching a hand gently to his face. It wasn't until then that he realized he was shaking.

He closed his eyes, not just allowing the touch but savoring it, the warmth and comfort of her energy amplified by the contact. "This is the first time… I mean, I've tried, to, to make contact, to reach him, but I've never…" He sniffed and shook his head, beyond words.

Then April was hugging him again, fiercely. "I know it's silly," she said tearfully, "but I've been worried… the thought of my baby, all alone… but if they're together…" She shook her head, but never finished the sentence. She didn't need to. He understood.

Leo returned her hug, eyes pressed tightly closed. "They'll be waiting, until it's our time to join them," he rasped. "Someday we'll be together again." That too he had felt, and with it a sense of peace he hadn't known for quite some time.

April drew a long breath, not altogether steady, then gave a last squeeze and pulled away to look at him. She looked sad still, and wrung out, and beautiful—always, beautiful—but her energy felt brighter somehow, and his heart lifted as if swept by a warm spring breeze.

"I'll never forget my lost baby," April said, wiping away her tears. "And I'll always miss Master Splinter. And a few weeks ago I might not have said this, but… I hope they're waiting a good long time."

"Me too," he said seriously. He knew exactly what she meant. After his father's passing, part of him had wished he could go with him. He had never seriously considered making that happen, but he'd felt at times like it wouldn't be so bad just to… not wake up. But that ambivalence toward life in general had passed, leaving him that much more thankful for his remaining family and friends. In the wake of the void left by their father, Leonardo and his brothers had developed a new closeness, a sensitivity and a protectiveness towards one another that went beyond anything he could have imagined. The loss of their father could have shattered them, could have sent them spinning off in four different directions—but instead, it had unified them exponentially.

And that was how it was—life and loss, the yin and the yang, forever intertwined.

"As Master Splinter's life drew closer to the end," Leo said, suddenly feeling the urge to talk about it in spite of the ache, "I felt like when he was gone, I might just… break. Like I would just shatter. And I knew I couldn't let myself do that—I knew my brothers would need me to be strong, to pull all of us through what was coming." He paused, pulled right back in to the memory like it had happened yesterday. Beside him, April just waited, and eventually he went on. "Then one day, when I was alone with him, he took my hand in both of his, and told me that sometimes a house was better, stronger, if it was built anew… so I shouldn't be afraid to let the old one fall. And I knew…" His voice cracked there, but he just sat with the pain for a minute until he could go on. "I knew he was worried about me, what would happen to me after he was gone. Even as much as he was suffering, to the end his thoughts were only about making things easier on us." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "So after he passed, I followed his advice, and I… broke."

April's hand tightened on his.

April and Casey had of course grieved for Master Splinter, but it was... very much separate from what Leo and his brothers went through. Nothing, no one, could touch the black despair the four brothers felt, and in the days and weeks encompassing the immediate fallout, the turtles reverted back to their earliest sequestered existence. Their knowledge, their world, shrank to just four beings, and beyond them there was nothing. It had taken everything they had simply to keep their heads above water; there was nothing left for anything else. Though April and Casey had unobtrusively lent what support they could, they must have understood to some degree that anything more would have been an intrusion. The distancing had not been purposeful, though, and as they began to adjust to their new world, one without their father in it, the turtles had reached out to their human friends once again.

Leonardo continued voicing his thoughts. "I had always thought my brothers needed me to be strong for them, to keep us all anchored—but I trusted what my father told me, so I just… let go. Let myself crumble."

"And your brothers were there to catch you," she finished for him.

"Not exactly," he said with a glance over at her. "Ultimately, they saved me. But first, I think… I think they were so used to following my lead that we  _all_  broke. It was like watching me surrender to the grief, just letting it crash through me without fighting it, gave them permission to do the same. We were  _all_ knocked down… and that gave us the chance to pull ourselves up together." Leo shook his head slowly. "I don't know for sure if that's what Master Splinter thought the result would be, but I think he did. I think he knew that trying to deny how utterly unraveled I was when he died would only have split my brothers and I apart. Those that tried to follow my lead and stay strong would not have dealt with the pain in a way that would allow them to fully heal, and those that let themselves truly feel the pain would have felt more and more alone and isolated in their grief. Instead, I showed them it was okay to let go. It was okay to fall apart." He looked over at her again. "And…" he said softly, "I want you to know it's okay for you, too. No matter what, I'm here for you."

"Thank you," she croaked, and turned to hug him again.

Arms wrapped comfortably around her, he said against her ear, "My brothers and I, we were all so excited for this baby." It was the truth—but not a truth he would've spoken before for fear of upsetting her. Now he understood. Hearing it might cause pain, but not nearly as much pain as believing she was all alone in this.

"Me too," she said with a little choked sob.

He hugged her tighter. "Love you. Always."

She tucked her head down against his shoulder. "Love you, too. Master Splinter would be so proud of you, of all of you, of how you've come together."

Leo nodded in acknowledgment, but her comforting words brought a sharp twist of worry to his gut too, touching too close to something that had been more and more on his mind of late. "I don't… I'm not sure how much longer we'll all be together, though," he said, speaking with uncharacteristic impulsiveness.

April pulled back to look worriedly at his face. "What do you mean?"

Leo took a deep, slow breath. "Raphael. I think he's going to leave soon."

There. It was spoken. He'd been feeling it for a while now, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. Deep down, though, he knew. His brother's energy was… restless. And with each day that passed, it was only becoming more so.

"Leaving?" she said, brow furrowed. "Why? Where?"

He shook his head in answer and eased back, discontinuing the embrace even though he had been enjoying the rare close contact. "We haven't spoken of it, but he seems restless. Before Master Splinter became ill, he was thinking about doing his own extended training, but that was put on hold indefinitely when we all realized…" Leo swallowed, but didn't bother finishing the sentence. "Anyway, now that things have settled, I believe he's considering it again. And I'm… worried sick," Leo admitted, glancing up to her face as he spoke.

"Do you think he's ready?" April asked, her face etched in concern.

Leo considered the question, and dropped his eyes again before answering, "I don't think he's  _not_  ready, it's more that… with Master Splinter gone, it would fall to me to help him prepare, and I don't know… I mean, what if I can't…"

He felt her hand on his upper arm, transmitting calming energy, and he quieted.

"Could you… tell him not to go right now?" she asked tentatively. "It really hasn't been that long; you should all be together right now."

There was an almost pleading quality to her voice, and Leo knew she wished, like he did, that it was that simple. "I've thought of that," he admitted. "Technically, as head of the family now, I have the authority to tell him not to. Although knowing Raph, he'd flip me off and do it anyway," he said wryly.

"I'm not so sure about that," April countered. "A few years ago, sure. But he's matured quite a lot, and things are different now between you two. Aren't they?"

_She's always been perceptive_ , Leo thought. "Maybe…" he said speculatively. Then, after taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he continued, "But I know I can't do that. The truth is, I'm never going to think it's the right time for him to go. He deserves the opportunity, and I think Master Splinter would feel the same. So… if he asks me…"  _When_ _he asks me_ , Leo thought in his head, "I'll do what I can to make arrangements, and help him prepare. I'm just, I'm afraid…" Leo realized he was clenching his jaw, and he tried to relax, tried to let the fear wash through without fighting it, but the mere thought of it was almost paralyzing, and even with his considerable mental control he couldn't manage it. "What if something happens to him?  _I_ almost didn't make it back, more times than I'd like to admit, and I had Master Splinter to help me prepare." He swallowed. Hard. "I'm not sure we could survive something like that, so soon after…"

"But you  _did_  make it back, Leo," she said, giving his arm a firm squeeze that helped to ground him once again. Those words helped him more than she knew, more than any false assurances that nothing would happen to Raph. In truth, Master Splinter's preparations had only gone so far to prepare him because there wasn't any good way to prepare for something like that. It was resourcefulness and luck that had gotten him through many tight situations, and those same things would help his brother.

"I start to panic a little inside, even thinking about Raph going. Then I wonder if Master Splinter felt that way when I was getting ready to go."

"I'm sure he did. Any parent would. Parents never stop worrying, but your father… he knew that the worry is just part of it. He didn't let it dictate his decisions. He knew you were ready."

"I don't think I was," Leo replied honestly. "I  _thought_  I was, at the time, but in retrospect I was an arrogant hotshot who thought he had all the answers."

April laughed a little at that. "Well as ready as it was possible for you to be, then," she amended.

The turtle bobbed his head a little, mulling it over. "Maybe… maybe I shouldn't wait for him to come to me, then. Maybe I should bring it up first. Encourage him to think about going."

April didn't answer right away, but finally revealed the silent direction of her thoughts. "You might be right," she said slowly. "If you wait until he asks to go, he might already have been thinking about it for so long that he'll be impatient to get started. If you bring it up now, there'll be time for everyone to get used to it. And plus he might feel a little flattered that you think he's ready, which could make him more inclined to go along with whatever preparations you come up with."

"That's possible," Leo answered. He sighed, a weighty exhalation, and then looked up at April, giving a reassuring smile when he saw her pinched expression. "Sorry, I didn't intend to just dump all that on you like that." He looked down, and added softly, "I haven't told anyone else. I guess it just needed to come out."

"Don't apologize," April said, shaking her head. "It… helps, actually, in a strange way. I feel like I've been walking around in a fog to some degree, totally self-absorbed."

"There's nothing wrong with that," he interrupted. "You've been in survival mode. I get that."  _I was there myself, not too long ago._

"I know. I don't mean I think it's  _wrong_  or anything, I just mean… talking with you is reminding me life is going on around me, and I've sort of been missing out on it. It's nice to think about something else. So thank you. For telling me, making me feel like part of things again."

Leo didn't answer except to reach out and rub her arm gently. Then he sighed, glanced over to the fire escape and then back to April. "Well? Want to go back inside?"

She didn't say anything right away, though her gaze followed his back over to the fire escape. Then she scootched until she was sitting close beside him, and her hand found his again, giving a gentle squeeze. "Yes," she answered. Finally she looked up at him with a brave attempt at a smile before laying her head against his shoulder, their hands still entwined. "But not just yet."

-=-=-=-=-


End file.
